Orders
by Mrs Don Draper
Summary: Tumblr Prompt: Bond/M. I keep reading and loving Bond being a submissive to M. Would like at least once to see the tables turned where she's taking orders from him!


He grabs a wrist in both his hands and holds them against the bed so they bracket her head. She sucks in a breath at his force. The somewhat vigorous pace they had been keeping jumps up a few notches as he takes total control.

"I thought you iwanted/i me to fuck that girl, M. You said it would get me to the mark. I didn't know you'd be in my ear the whole time going on about how I was 'going about it the wrong way' and could I 'please hurry up.' Hard to hurry up when someone's putting you off."

He sees he forming a protest and promptly kisses her on the mouth, swallowing down her words before she can even fully formulate them. He plunges into her without mercy, and when his cock pulls out enough to rub her clit, she squeezes her thighs ever-tighter around his waist. She's just grateful he lubed her up before carrying on, or else this would have been incredibly uncomfortable. She knows he could never been entirely indifferent to her.

"Fuck, M, feel amazing around me. You're so wet."

She whimpers in pleasure at his words. She knows he's not only referring to the jelly he used. All of this has her more turned on than she's been in a while.

His fat cock enters her again and again, hitting her deeply with that hint of pain that comes from pent up, unused, smothered desire that isn't uncommon in Double-Oh agents. She would know, of course.

"James, please," she appeals. "iLet me/i."

M gives a tug on her wrists, tries to sit up, change position, something, but James does not relent.

"You will stay down, do you hear me? Going to fill you with my come until you're sloppy with it."

She gasps as he sucks on her neck, hips never ceasing, grip on her wrists loosening only to gently stroke the delicate skin there, a delicious counterpoint to the near-violence of his other actions.

"James, I'm not going anywhere. We can—We can take our time."

He opts to ignore her, too caught up in the act of rutting into her to stop and listen. For once, he wants her to listen to him. He wants to be in charge of what happens to her. He finally, finally frees her wrists.

"Is this the 'right way,' M?" he pants. "Is this how a woman wants to be fucked? You gave me such grief for taking my time before, and now you know."—He bites her clavicle.—"Now you know why I take it slow. Most girls don't want to be ruined by a shag. But you're a special one, M."

She moans at his words. It's true, it's all true. It's wonderful and thrilling, but it's getting to be too much. The amount of force he commands is vast, and her body can't take much more of it.

"James, slow down. You're starting to hurt," she whines, arms wrapping around his neck, trying to hold on to something solid, if not safe.

He lets her hold him, but his cock leaves her body. She feels so empty. There's nothing there to ease the ache or the pain anymore. M whimpers. He pants heavily as he squeezes the base of his cock. He wants control, but he's not cruel.

"Are you alright?" he murmurs softly.

She's trembling a bit from nerves and being so keyed up, but she thinks she's ok. At least, she will be. She tells him so. He kisses her in silent apology.

He stays still for a while, spooned up behind her while he gently strokes her off. He keeps two fingers in her fanny to give her something to squeeze that isn't going to harm her while a careful thumb circles her clit. She gasps quietly when she comes on his fingers, and he sucks them clean when she's through. He savors her on his tongue and thinks he would like to eat her out some day soon.

While she's settling, he takes himself in hand and starts to bring himself off, bollocks already drawn up. M turns to watch him and gently rubs circles on his abdomen when it tenses. She whispers softly to him when he grunts that he's close.

"M," he groans.

She replies by nuzzling closer to him. She reaches down a hand to stroke him, concentrating on his oozing tip, pressing against the underside of the head.

"Coming," he warns breathlessly.

But M doesn't move her hand. She strokes him through it until even the aftershocks wear away. Her hand and his chest and stomach are covered in thick white.

"Sorry," he says sheepishly when he notices she's looking at her dripping hand.

She accepts his apology by licking a drop from her pinky, and he can't help himself when he suddenly has the urge to cover her in kisses. M chuckles a bit.

"You can't be ready to go again already."

"M, I'm sure you've already noticed that I can't quite control myself when I'm around you."

"When iI'm/i around iyou/i, I think you mean," she says cheekily.

"You little minx."

There's not much talking after that. They're too busy kissing again.


End file.
